I am feeling too lazy to construct a proper blog post today. So instead, some random thoughts.
Firstly, I wish I were a regular pooer. As in someone who goes at the same time every morning after breakfast. I had a colleague like this once (not entirely sure why I knew about her pooing habits, but I did). She never had to poo at work because she had always gone at home precisely fifteen minutes before she was due to leave the house. I experienced a good deal of jealousy over that. It’s a pain never knowing when the urge is going to take you because, you know, public toilets. Plus the paranoia of having to go in someone elses house. I know you know what I’m talking about.
Also my middle son is strange. I know I probably shouldn’t say that about my own son, but (shrug) he is. First there was the lengthy impression of a bobble hat. Then yesterday he came downstairs – after I had sent him up to get dressed – looking all sombre in a smart, white, buttoned up shirt. He went on to inform my quizzical face that his imaginary goldfish had died and that was why he was smart today, just in case I was wondering. Of course. Silly me.
Also, despite now being ten years old, he still loves to drink a lot of milk. Which would be fine I guess except that I find myself saying all sorts of annoying mum stuff as a result. Like, “Milk doesn’t really hydrate you, you know. If you’re thirsty why don’t you drink some water?” I just know I pull a cats bum face while I say these things. At least one of the committee members in my head is always sighing and saying, “Aw leave the damn kid alone why don’t you”.
Plus another thing is that he really loves music. Which is great, I know. Since he was eight or so he has enjoyed spending time trawling YouTube looking for new stuff to listen to. Particularly memorable is the day I heard The Prodigy’s Invaders Must Die blaring from my kitchen. I crept down from upstairs to find Middle son headbanging and leaping around the room with the sort of blind enthusiasm us adults can only dream of. And I will admit, I was proud. I mean pretty sophisticated musical tastes for an eight year old huh?
Only now he likes Eminem. Who, to be fair, is actually a brilliant writer and also a fellow addict in recovery so I feel a degree of kinship and all, but the content you know? (cats bum face). It’s not the swearing as such. Because I couldn’t really give a stuff about the kids hearing a bit of swearing. They’re well socialised kids, they know it’s not appropriate for them to do it, and they don’t, to my knowledge. I’m just not sure my ten year old is quite ready for the angrily violent shade of dark that is Eminems self expression. Perhaps he doesn’t understand a word of it though (hopeful questioning face?)
Hm. I now feel obliged to add another random thought, seeing as that was the idea behind this post and I’ve actually just ended up writing about my son.
Oh yeah, that thing about money not making you happy? Some kind of opiate for the masses concocted and distributed by a rich person in my opinion. Because for once, I am up to date with my bills and have some disposable income that I can enjoy guilt free. And I can state categorically that I am vastly happier than when up to my eyeballs in politely menacing reminders. Money might not make you happy in and of itself, but not having any can be a real bummer.
Over and out, and have a great weekend.